


Two Birthdays

by juliasets



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Endgame Sheith, Fluff, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro's birthday, space nerdery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22954927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliasets/pseuds/juliasets
Summary: Shiro turns 28 (7) on Earth.Shiro turns 8 (32) in space.So much can change in just four short years.
Relationships: Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 90





	Two Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> My first VLD fic! Ahhhh! I knew I had to write something for Shiro's birthday, since it only comes around once every four years.
> 
> Thanks to [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway) for beta-ing and giving me some great notes.

Shiro turns 28 (7) on Earth.

Curtis rents out an entire restaurant and invites all of his fiancé’s friends. The storefront is dark when Curtis and Shiro pull up. Shiro isn’t supposed to be looking, but as they drove over it only took a few short turns for the darkness behind his eyelids to feel oppressive. What Curtis doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Okay,” Curtis says as he turns off the car. “I think we’re a couple minutes early, but that shouldn’t matter.”

“I’m sure everyone is in position.”

“Shut up,” Curtis laughs. “At least act surprised, okay?”

Once he climbs out of the car, Shiro obliges this whole charade by closing his eyes, allowing Curtis to lead him up the sidewalk and through the door. The ‘surprise!’ from the assembled guests may not be of one, but Shiro doesn’t like surprises anyway. It’s only a little over a year out from the end of the war and the best part of Shiro’s life is that he’s in full control of it.

The restaurant has cleared out most of the tables and chairs, and guests mill about the room. It’s big enough to host most of the _Atlas’_ crew, all of whom want to wish their former captain a happy birthday. A lifetime of being a leap year baby means Shiro has heard every possible permutation of jokes about his age, so he accepts them all graciously.

Yes, he’s turning seven.

Yes, it’s funny that the Garrison let a toddler fly a spaceship.

No, it won’t be a problem for his upcoming wedding.

Between the trip to Kerberos, his year of captivity, the sparsely populated Castleship, and a short eternity trapped in the Black Lion, it’s refreshing—if a little overwhelming—to have so many people around to share the day with him, even if he barely gets to greet most of them.

The paladins are there, too, and he appreciates catching up with them. Hunk and Keith both primarily live off-world and Shiro hasn’t seen either since the reunion a couple months back. Cuba is far enough away that Lance doesn’t visit and since Shiro’s recent retirement from the Garrison he no longer has much opportunity to talk to Pidge or Matt. They’re all doing well and Shiro finds himself bursting with pride for his little family.

Hunk’s catering business is flourishing. He spends the majority of his time visiting other worlds and learning about their cuisine. His ability to create dishes that combine aspects from several cultures is a well-respected diplomatic skill.

Matt and Pidge are still at the Garrison. The entire Holt family is almost singlehandedly changing the terrain of science on Earth, from biology to astrophysics. Earth’s spacefaring technology has already leap-frogged several centuries of progress by integrating what they’ve learned from their allies, and in turn they’re exporting their innovations across the galaxy.

Lance’s family’s farm is doing well. Lance himself is a little pale, a little quiet. Shiro can’t blame him. None of them are the same as who they were before the war, but Lance lost more than some.

Shiro catches up with Keith as he’s conversing with some of the MFE pilots and can’t help but marvel at how far he’s come. A few years ago, a party like this would’ve seen Keith hugging a wall. The Blade of Marmora suit he’s wearing emphasizes how much he’s grown up, the Senior Blade wraps accentuating the breadth of his shoulders.

“Nice outfit,” Shiro gently ribs as he works his way into the group.

“The birthday boy!” Rizavi crows.

Keith is unfazed. “I came straight from my ship. Almost didn’t get here in time.”

He’s probably telling the truth, Keith isn’t one for lies. But it’s just as likely that he had time to change on the flight over and didn’t. Keith is transforming the Blade of Marmora into a humanitarian organization through sheer force of will; Shiro’s not going to begrudge him some comfortable clothes.

“So where are you coming from?”

“Hoth,” Keith says, deadpan.

Shiro snorts into his drink.

“Well, Hoth-like,” Keith amends. “Locals live in cave systems warmed by geothermal vents.”

“No tauntaun?” Shiro asks.

“Froze before I reached the first marker.”

Shiro shakes his head. Keith’s never had a great grasp on pop culture, but Shiro insisted that they watch the original _Star Wars_ trilogy long before Shiro was selected for Kerberos. Shiro swore it was required viewing for any future pilots.

Keith claimed that it was just because Shiro had a crush on Harrison Ford. Shiro maintains that there is nothing ‘ _just’_ about Han Solo.

“So, what were you on Hoth 2 for?” Shiro asks.

“Repatriation,” Keith says. “The Galra took some of the locals to mine other planets. We brought them back.”

“Did you get a hero’s welcome?”

“Well, no one tried to cut my head off, for once.”

“A good start.”

Keith smiles. It’s small—almost tentative—and it relaxes a part of Shiro that he didn’t even know was tense. It’s been hard, having Keith so far away. He thinks it might be hard on Keith, too.

“You know,” Keith starts. “We could always use some help—”

“There you are!”

Shiro starts at Curtis’ arrival. His fiancé grabs Shiro’s flesh hand, lacing their fingers together. “You have to get some food before it’s all gone.”

Shiro gives Keith an apologetic wave and allows himself to be led away.

The restaurant catered the party. The food is locally sourced, though that’s more of a necessity than an affectation as the planet rebuilds from the Galra occupation. Curtis brought a fancy three-tiered cake from a local bakery and Shiro has a slice of each: red velvet, chocolate mocha, and French vanilla. They’re delicious and perfect to quell Shiro’s raging sweet-tooth.

None of them are teenagers anymore, so the party wraps up around midnight. People have been trickling away for the past few hours. The desert air at night is a little chilly, but the paladins hang around long enough to say a long good-bye on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. With the planet still rebuilding the light pollution is minimal and the stars Shiro has always loved shine brightly above them. Keith catches him staring up at them, picking out his favorite constellations, trying to figure out if he can see some of the fainter stars he knows are there.

“You okay?” Keith asks.

“Yeah, of course.” Shiro drags his gaze back down to Earth. Keith looks worried, but Shiro couldn’t tell you why. This has been a great day. “It was good getting to see you.”

It works to replace the worried look with a smile. “Yeah, you too. Happy birthday, Shiro.”

The next reunion is only a few months out and Shiro’s already looking forward to it. He’s so proud of them.

Proud, and maybe a little jealous, a little lonely. The relaxation of retirement was desperately needed, but lately Shiro feels antsy. He’s been looking for a hobby to pass the time. You can only work out so much. And making friends as an adult, without the pressures of war or the rigid structures of the Garrison, is hard.

After the party they return home and Curtis crowds Shiro against their door, dropping to his knees for the first part of his birthday gift. Later, in bed, Shiro tears open the wrapping paper on a new pair of running shoes.

“Happy birthday, honey,” Curtis says. “Do you like them?”

“Love them.” The kiss he presses into Curtis’ cheek heats up quickly as they roll across the sheets.

It’s a good birthday.

  


* * *

  


Shiro turns 8 (32) in space.

He and Keith cut out early from their mission on Haweff. It’s a humanitarian mission, one of the easier ones, nothing more than passing out water and rations and taking selfies with star-struck alien children. Their team has it well in hand in their absence. As they disembark, Keith insists on a blindfold jury-rigged from an old t-shirt and Shiro indulges him, even doubles it up so he can’t see through the cotton threads.

At first Shiro worries about the hours of darkness ahead, but Keith distracts him by playing Twenty Questions as he pilots them through one wormhole and several warp jumps. Shiro finds himself relaxing, trusting in Keith’s piloting to deliver them safely. Believing in Keith has always been easy; it’s never steered him wrong before.

He feels the deceleration as they approach their destination. Small vibrations thrum through the hull and up Shiro’s seat as Keith docks and runs through the ship’s shutdown protocol.

Shiro keeps the blindfold on as they leave their seats and Keith carefully chivvies him down the gangway. Given that they didn’t encounter re-entry turbulence, Shiro knows that they aren’t planet-side. The air tastes sterile and recycled, so he guesses it’s a small station. There’s a low murmur of languages he doesn’t recognize. Shiro tracks their progress, first through a big door that releases a loud pneumatic hiss and probably takes them out of the hanger, then down several long hallways, and finally through a smaller door that he imagines leads to a private room, judging by the lack of ambient noise.

He’s carefully positioned by Keith, in a manner that probably doesn’t require being as handsy as he is—not that Shiro is complaining. Finally, Keith crowds up against him, a warm line along his back, and slides the blindfold up.

They’re standing before a floor-to-ceiling length window that looks out over open space. In the near distance, close enough to encompass his entire field of vision, are two stars.

The smaller is about the size of Earth and brilliant white. From its size, Shiro can classify it as a white dwarf star. It’s emitting radiation, shooting out two beams of light that slowly rotate around it like a windmill or a lighthouse—a pulsar. As they spin through space the beams lash across the face of that star’s partner, a larger red dwarf. When the radiation streaks across the larger star, the red dwarf brightens brilliantly.

It’s instantly recognizable.

“AR Scorpii,” Shiro breathes out.

The glass is cool against Shiro’s flesh hand where he presses it to the window. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved forward.

He can’t remember where he first learned about this binary system, whether it was in a class or if he’d read about it. Long before Shiro was a Paladin of Voltron or the youngest pilot at the Garrison, he’d consumed pop-science books about space voraciously—Stephen Hawking, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Carl Sagan. AR Scorpii was the first white dwarf pulsar ever discovered, and the only one he knows of paired with a red dwarf. If he sticks around he’ll be able to see the two stars orbit each other, a three-and-a-half-hour process that was the first light curve picked up on Earth. Only later did they also discover the shorter two minute beat period from the white dwarf’s rays lighting up its partner.

Amateur astronomers discovered AR Scorpii. As a young, sick child Shiro sometimes doubted his ability to reach the stars, and instead he watched them with envy. He used to reassure himself that even if he never made it into space, he could still discover amazing things from Earth.

Now, with Keith, he does so much more than he could’ve ever dreamed.

“What do you think?” Keith asks.

Shiro turns away from the window, finally taking in his surroundings. It is, as he suspected, a private hotel room. The windows take up an entire wall of the suite and some of the panels are designed to refract different frequencies on the electromagnetic spectrum, casting the binary system in an array of different colors. It’s the space equivalent of building a hotel on a scenic overlook.

It’s perfect. It’s so perfect.

After years spent fighting a war across the universe and now years spent traveling through it on missions, sometimes Shiro forgets how much he loves space.

There’s apparently a party as well, but Keith’s timed it so they have a few hours to kill and Shiro takes full advantage. He presses his gratitude into Keith’s skin on the enormous bed as beams of light flash across them.

The hotel is also hosting the party and all the guests. They’re honored to have the Paladins of Voltron in attendance. Even with a few hours of lead time, Shiro and Keith show up late, accepting the friendly mockery of their friends graciously.

Along with the Paladins are the rest of the Holts. Lance and Allura’s twins are running around, screeching. Coran and Romelle made the trip from Altea, catching a ride with Krolia, who stopped over on her way from Daibazaal. Keith teases Axca about having commandeered a Blade ship to pick Veronica up from Earth, calling it an improper use of resources. She doesn’t bother to justify him with a response, considering he did the exact same thing to bring Shiro here.

Hunk took care of the menu, which has a selection of food from across the universe, including some of Shiro’s favorites. Keith apparently allowed him free rein, only requested that one of the dishes was old school Earth mac and cheese.

Hunk also baked the cake himself. He explains to the assembled crowd that when Keith called him up to make the flavor request—“funfetti”—the Yellow Paladin had suffered minor breakdown at his good friend Shiro’s terrible taste. But Hunk took the challenge as seriously as he did anything food-related, and the cake truly elevates the genre of birthday cakes flavors for children. Keith laughs at Shiro’s face when he takes a bite and is transported into another, heavenly realm. It really is that good.

The party tapers off but doesn’t end until what would be the early hours of the morning, according to Shiro and Keith’s internal clocks. Coming from across the galaxy, not everyone is on the same time schedule, but they all resist the urge to leave. The twins pass out early on a couch and the party grows gradually less raucous until they’re all sitting, sprawled across various surfaces, talking.

“Can you believe we’re only a few light-seconds from AR Scorpii?” Matt asks, gazing out the window.

“Can you believe there’s a hotel here?” Lance adds.

Matt throws a handful of puffy grain snacks—they taste a little like kettle corn—at Lance.

Pidge picks up where her brother left off. “Just imagine the other celestial bodies we could see now.”

“The Crab Nebula!” Matt suggests.

“Horsehead Nebula!” Veronica adds.

“Actually, most nebulae up close would be too diffuse to see,” Sam points out, only to be bombarded with several handfuls of the puffy snacks from his children for being a spoilsport.

“You guys are such nerds,” Lance says.

Allura pushes at his shoulder. “Be nice.”

Lance pulls her into his lap amid her peals of laughter. “You know you’re the only celestial body for me, babe.” The pair kiss as they’re showered with more snacks and groans.

The party shrinks as people gradually head off to bed, until only the paladins remain. Their resistance to sleep prevents Shiro and Keith from stealthily slipping away, but the jeers and taunts that chase them down the hall are as good-natured as those when they’d arrived.

Keith laughs as Shiro pushes him against the inside of their hotel room door. “Don’t you want your present?”

“You mean this isn’t it?” Shiro asks, all innocence, as he sinks to the floor, thumbing open the button of Keith’s pants.

Keith does eventually give him a gift—slides the ring box across the sheets with a nervous smile—but the simple gray bands and even the joy bursting open in Shiro’s chest as he accepts both pale in comparison to the prismatic light playing across Keith’s skin.

In thirty-two years of life Shiro’s only had eight real birthdays, and this is the best one yet. But more importantly, he’s really looking forward to the next one.


End file.
